Authors: Roger Forsdyke
The Perfect Crime (20 page)
Although he would never have admitted it, luck played a significant part in the Black Panther’s life. One idea for a ransom drop, was to have it thrown from a moving train. That way the police wouldn’t know in advance where it might be collected from and they couldn’t stake out a whole railway line, could they? The detail of how he was going to tell them when to throw the cash from the train, could come later.
After researching the area, poring over Ordnance Survey maps, he decided that Dudley Zoo, twenty five miles and three quarters of an hour drive from Highley, was worthy of a closer look. He embarked on a reconnaissance mission. From the car park he entered the zoo from the hill. He found several places where he could get a good clear view – using his powerful binoculars – of anyone moving about below him. He would direct the ransom to be dropped at a location down there, while he watching from a vantage point on high. He reckoned that, should his instructions for the ransom drop not be obeyed, or some other eventuality cause him to abort, he would be far enough away on the hillside to make good his escape. There were several routes through the woods to the rear of the zoo. Additionally, as he gleaned from the Reader’s Digest, it was by no means certain that the first drop attempt would be successful, so he needed a plan B. Here his masterstroke, moving train idea would come into play. He would instruct them to take the money to the railway station. There would be instructions waiting for them inside a left luggage locker, or a phone box. They would be instructed to catch a certain train, go to a specific carriage, and there would find the information about making the drop. The location of the drop would be before the train made its first scheduled stop, so it would not matter who might be watching, or if the police were on the train as well. They either made the drop or the kidnapped person would die. Well, that would be the threat he would make to ensure the money was actually delivered, anyway.
He went back to his maps and traced the route of the railway line from Dudley, going north. He looked for the railway to pass through an open space, with preferably a tunnel, as well. His finger moved up, past Telford, Market Drayton and Stoke on Trent and stopped near Kidsgrove. Bingo! – that looked eminently suitable. A place called Bathpool Park.
Bathpool Park. Not quite sixty miles, but it took him two hours to drive there. He left his stolen Ford Escort van in the car park and walked along the footpath next to the railway. Here the Panther luck cut in again. As he walked past an electricity substation, he heard a roaring sound coming from a slightly raised manhole cover near the path. He went over, pulled it up and saw an iron ladder going down into a deep, dark vertical shaft. Carefully replacing it, he fetched his new torch from the van and went back to investigate.
He explored the network of tunnels, with the lower levels carrying water, getting on for sixty or seventy feet down, he reckoned. No doubt at times of heavy rainfall the water would rise, but as it stood, it was out of the way, with some dry, horizontal tunnels – areas in which he could easily conceal a kidnap victim, with no chance of them ever being able to attract assistance – and equally little prospect of escape. Not only that, but the ransom drop could be made at one entrance, he could collect it, secure the cover from the inside and leave by another tunnel. No one would be able to follow him, at least not without some considerable delay, by which time he would be miles away, with very little risk of anyone seeing him make his exit. He would leave a vehicle on each potential escape route, so wherever he came out, he would get clean away. He could then call the family and tell them where to go, to get their loved one back.
Perfect!
Gloria’s flight touched down at Malaga airport. There were not as many taxis as was usual in high season, but she didn’t have to wait long. She showed the driver the address she been given, and settled back in the seat. They headed out along the coast road, away from Malaga, towards Fuengirola. After skirting Marbella, they turned inland onto a smaller road and began the twisting, winding ascent into the Serranĩa de Ronda. A few minutes later the taxi slowed and turned into an imposing gateway of white rendered brick, with red tiled tops and heavy wrought iron gates. The gateway and abutting walls were covered with some dark green, huge-leafed creeper. From there it was a few yards drive to the villa, the sight of which made Gloria gasp with surprise. She hastily rummaged in her handbag and took out the promotional literature. It was the same villa in the photos in the leaflet. She was going to stay in the company’s main show home! The taxi driver helped her with her bags, then drove off, leaving her on the step. She knocked on the door and waited. After a few seconds, she knocked again. Still no response. She tried the door handle and the heavy, studded wooden door swung silently inwards.
“Halloo.” Her voice echoed round the tiled interior. “Anyone at home?” She called again, “Hallo – is there anyone here?”
She stepped inside and waited, listening.
Obviously
not
.
But
this
has
to
be
the
right
place
,
must
be
.
It’s
the
villa
in
the
leaflet
. She decided to look round. She glanced back at her suitcases on the doorstep and reasoned that the place was isolated and if the company were confident enough to leave the premises insecure, she could leave them there for a couple of minutes. So that was what it was like round here.
Not
like
London
,
where
you’ve
got
to
lock
everything
all
the
time
and
your
husband’s
paranoid
about
being
burgled
. Her footsteps sounded hard on the ceramic tiles, silent on the deep pile rugs. The living room was two or three times the size of their spacious lounge in Loughton, with heavy Spanish wood and leather furniture. The whole effect was rather too dark and ornate for her liking, but if they were still building, she thought that there was no reason why their properties could not be finished in a way more to her taste. She went through to the kitchen.
There was a note on the table. She read:
Dear
Mrs
Groat
,
I
apologise
profusely
for
not
meeting
you
at
the
airport
,
but
have
had
to
attend
an
urgent
management
meeting
in
the
city
.
Please
make
yourself
at
home
,
I
will
be
with
you
later
on
this
afternoon
.
Perhaps
we
could
have
a
meal
this
evening
as
a
gesture
of
good
will
from
the
company
for
not
welcoming
you
properly
this
morning
.
T
.
Boulders
.
She had never heard of anyone by the name of Boulders before. She experimented with saying
Señor
Boulders
in a Spanish accent. She brought in her cases and explored the rest of the house, then made herself a cup of coffee. She took it outside onto the patio and surveyed the view. The air smelled fresh and clean and she could see for ever. Mountain peaks soared away to her right and was that the sea to the left, in the far hazy distance? The swimming pool was empty, but then it was January. Even so the temperature was still in the sixties and warm enough to be outside without a coat.
“Oh, this is wonderful,” she took a deep draught of the mountain air, “wait ‘til my old man finds out what a clever woman he married. All this for two and a half grand. He won’t believe it.”
*
Gloria explored the rest of the villa and was bursting with ideas on how she would want theirs. In only one of the bedrooms was a bed made up, so she lugged her bags upstairs and unpacked a little. Lunch was little more than a sandwich and it was now late afternoon, so she went back downstairs to explore the kitchen a little better. She made herself another cup of coffee and started looking through the cupboards and drawers. The place was exceptionally well stocked. These people really went to town! In the distance she heard a vehicle approaching. She went to a window, but in the Spanish fashion, there were bars on the outside and the same creeper that topped the entrance gates partially obscured her view. She went to the front door and opened it in time to see a rugged looking four wheel drive vehicle turn off the road and into the drive. Gloria knew what a Triumph Spitfire looked like – as well as a Ford Capri – but beyond that possessed scant interest in cars. As long as they were comfortable, reliable and got her from A to B…
The Jeep stopped a few feet away. Out jumped a man sporting a Peter Wyngarde style moustache. In fact, it could have been Jason King, albeit with a less exaggerated hairstyle.
“Señora Groat.”
“Mr Boulders – Señor Boulders?”
He was tall, slim and tanned. Really quite handsome in a craggy sort of way, she decided. He ushered her inside and to her surprise, turned and locked the front door. Pocketed the key.
“Time to drop the pretence, I think.” He said in his normal voice.
Suddenly all the small twinges she’d experienced when listening to that voice on the phone surfaced and made sense.
“But you’re in prison.” She said.
Swiftly following the first, other realisations threatened to inundate.
No one knew where she was apart from her husband, who only knew that she was going to Malaga.
She was not in Malaga.
She was in a villa with locked doors and bars on all the windows.
The villa was probably not a show home.
The nearest neighbour could be a kilometre away – or more.
The place was equipped and provisioned for a six month siege.
As if reading her mind, he shook his head, “It’s no good shouting and there’s no phone.”
And the only person who knew where she actually was, was a convicted, serial rapist.
The floor suddenly started to spin and rushed up to meet her.
When she came round she was in the bedroom, lying on the bed. She tried to move, but her freedom to do so was limited. Regulation Metropolitan Police handcuffs manacled her securely to the wrought ironwork of the headboard.
Bonehead sat in an armchair, watching her. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He shrugged briefly. “Your choice.”
Eventually, she said, “What do you want?”
You
bastard
.
“Only what I’ve always wanted.”
Gloria closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. She had been about to snap, “You’re mad”, but thought,
Better
not
.
What
if
he
is
?
He
must
be
mad
,
or
at
least
slightly
deranged
to
have
gone
to
these
lengths
.
That
fake
advertising
campaign
(
and
how
did
he
get
to
know
where
I
work
?)
The
organisation
in
getting
me
out
here
,
this
place
…
I’ll
have
to
very
careful
;
jolly
him
along
,
bide
my
time
…
watch
for
an
opportunity
…
escape
when
he’s
not
looking
…
Carefully, she said, “And what is… what might that be?”
“Just you. Only you, it’s only ever been you.”
“Bonehead…”
“Sidney. It’s Sidney now, no more Bonehead. I’ve left Bonehead behind. That was another time, another place. You’re in my world now. My world of sunshine and loving, of fine wine and freedom.”
Mad
,
quite
mad
.
It’s
the
wrong
time
of
year
for
sunstroke
.
Maybe
he’s
on
drugs
or
something
…
Patiently she said, “All right. Sidney, I’m a married woman, remember. I only ever went out with you for a few weeks…”
“Four months, actually.”
“All right, a few months.”
Careful
,
girl
. “Whatever, we were only boyfriend, girlfriend. It was never anything serious. You and I split up and I’ve been married to Lester for fourteen years now. You can’t simply turn back the clock.”
“I’ve waited for you, all this time. I can wait until you develop the right frame of mind.”
I’ll
butter
her
paws
,
like
a
kitten
.
Give
her
time
.
She’ll
come
round
.
In his head he could hear Louis Armstrong crooning,
We
have
all
the
time
in
the
world
...
“He’s no good for you, never was. You’re worth so much more. He’s not even given you any kids, has he? Can’t he get it up, or what? Queer is he?”
Gloria briefly closed her eyes, “We don’t want children, all right.”
“Whatever,” he said. This was obviously going to take longer than he had hoped. “I’ll go and do us something to eat.”
They dined in virtual silence, like an old married couple. He poured wine, she drank none, fearful of what might happen in the night.
*
It was a Monday evening, so Dorothy Whittle was off out to visit friends, less than ten minute drive away, in Chelmarsh village. It was about 8:30 p.m. when she said goodbye to Lesley, who was in the lounge turning up the hem on a pair of jeans and watching ‘Alias Smith and Jones’ on BBC 2. Later, she bathed and washed her long dark hair and shortly after ten p.m. rang her sister-in-law, Gaynor. They talked about dresses and the soon-to-arrive baby. She was going to be an auntie at seventeen! She thanked Ron again for the book case he had made her for Christmas, then set about getting ready for bed. She knew that her mother would not be home until late and did not intend waiting up. Before she settled down for the night, she opened the garage door so her mum could drive straight in and left the downstairs lights on, as well as the outside security light so she could see where she was going.
Sometime after midnight, Dorothy returned and parked her car in the garage. She made herself a cup of Ovaltine and pausing to check that Lesley was fast asleep, went to bed herself. Outside, a fitful breeze riffled plastic sheeting covering some window frames stacked at the back of the house, camouflaging and complementing the usual night noises.
Black Panther weather.
